


Get Your Heart Beating

by briansredspecial



Series: Peace Lovin' Guy [2]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: 1975, 70s, Angst, Bands, Brian May - Freeform, Depression, Derogatory Language, Dom!Brian May, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, England - Freeform, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Sex, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Fanfiction, Freddie Mercury - Freeform, Homophobia, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Infidelity, John Deacon - Freeform, Love, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Music, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Sexism, Queen - Freeform, Recording Studio, Roger Taylor - Freeform, Self-Harm, Sub!Brian May, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 13:48:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29967324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/briansredspecial/pseuds/briansredspecial
Summary: ***PEACE LOVIN' GUY SEQUEL: READ THAT FIRST THEN COME BACK***She works for John Reid, John Reid works for him. Now 1975, can Maria and Brian rekindle  their flame in these new and strange circumstances?
Relationships: Brian May/Original Female Character(s), Freddie Mercury/Paul Prenter, John Deacon/Brian May/Freddie Mercury/Roger Taylor, John Deacon/Veronica Tetzlaff, Mary Austin/Freddie Mercury, Roger Taylor (Queen)/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Peace Lovin' Guy [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2203509





	Get Your Heart Beating

**Author's Note:**

> ***PEACE LOVIN' GUY SEQUEL: READ THAT FIRST THEN COME BACK***
> 
> Hi babies! Welcome to the sequel of Peace Lovin' Guy! 
> 
> Hope you're all doing well! And I hope you all enjoy, we're starting off with a bang!
> 
> Carys x

~element of envy~

August, 1975

I could feel my eyes being pulled shut by a force that could only be described as tiredness. I was the only one who could feel it and understand it, but my unforgiving pile of paperwork laid in front of me on my worn out and familiar desk, looked up at me with a bored and blank stare. It was such a small thing when you look at the full picture, but it was the small thing that would determine when I got to have a nap, or when I got to lounge on the sofa and stare at the ceiling with a beer in my hand because there was nothing else to do. As I sat there, with my pen between my teeth, I wondered if there was any way to make some kind of shortcut that would make my job any easier, but to no avail. There was no way I could get around having to pay full attention to the stack of papers in front of me. If there were, I would have done it hours ago, but I would most likely end up fired.

I settled with my cup of tea, no brandy, I promise, and I continued through the paperwork assigned to me by my boss and mentor. I truly didn't mind paperwork too much; it was just that there would always be this element of envy that came with sorting through papers that showcased another person's success in money figures. Critics were generally unimpressed with Elton's latest album 'Caribou' but sales showed otherwise; people were still eager to buy the album anyway and he had such an adorning fan base. It was my job to total up and divide the sales to go to the relevant people. It was all part of my training from John, and whilst it sometimes felt too taxing, I had to remind myself that the empire that John was gradually building could one day be synonymous with my own empire.

Another part of my job working for John Reid was analysing studio usage: what each studio in the London area charged for artists to use their facilities, how long they used them. Sometimes it even depended on the artist themselves. It was all part of determining what were the best business moves to make. It really felt like I was back at university sometimes, only without the pressure of Professor Ross bearing down on me until I couldn't bloody breathe; John was the kind of mentor I wanted at university but never got.

Outside of professional life, I got on rather well with John; we had a lot in common, and it was nice to work with somebody in this field who was around my age. It was weird sometimes, though, thinking about the fact that my mentor was only a year older than me, but was still so good at what he did. However, he did have this volatile streak that hindered him in some ways, but I guess I was always drawn to people like that.

I ended up spending two and a half hours going through all the sales for 'Caribou' and dividing profit up into what would go to Elton, what would go to John, the producers, the technicians, the studios, the labels – everything. It was taxing, actually, if I'm going to be completely honest. Taxing on my brain, that is, since it involved a horrible amount of maths and let's just say I was never the brightest bulb when it came to mathematics.

I stretched back on my chair, my arms up in the air as I let out an exaggerated groan, when I finally finished my work for the day. I let my head fall back briefly, staring up at the ceiling as my muscles stretched out, providing me with some kind of tension relief from being sat over a desk for ages. I guess it didn't really matter, since I was fully planning on just lounging on the sofa once again for the rest of the day, listening to records – not the radio... Never the radio.

I went into the kitchen, heading straight for the refrigerator to pick out the can of beer that was furthest towards the back, wanting that coldness to hit me. The August heat was intense, and it was difficult to get any kind of relief since I couldn't really afford a fan or anything like that, so I resorted to chilled drinks or simply shoving my head inside the refrigerator for thirty minutes. But now, I was resorting to beer, my favourite beer, which wasn't anything specific. Literally, it wasn't anything specific, Morrison's own brand beer.

I hummed to myself as I made my way back into my living room to pick out a record to play. I was proud of the little vinyl collection I'd accumulated, and I kept it stocked away under my turntable in a cardboard box. Something about having them in something as disposable as a cardboard box added value to them, ironically. I didn't want to spend more money on storage than the records I'd be putting in it.

Looking through my collection, I racked my brain through what I could listen to. I just wanted to chill out for the rest of the day since I'd just given myself a killer headache from that paperwork. I decided on an album from The Drifter's I'd gotten as a teenager, instead of something I would usually listen to like Alice Cooper or The Rolling Stones, even though I loved both. Variety is the spice of life... etcetera, etcetera...

I'd only just got to pulling the record out when the telephone rang loudly from its place on the wall. I groaned and slipped it back in the box, trudging over to the phone and picking it up with a grimace.

"Hello?" I answered, the energy I usually had for sounding somewhat cheerful now disintegrated.

"Don't sound too happy to see me, Maria," came a Scottish twang from the other end.

I chuckled ruefully, rolling my eyes. "Sorry, John. How are you? I've just finished the paperwork you wanted me to do, actually, I was just settling down."

"I'm fine, but don't settle down any time soon, sweetheart, I need you to come down real quick."

I bit my tongue, preventing myself from letting out a displeased groan, leaning my head against the wall and squeezing my eyes shut. I was so focused on not being rude to my boss that I forgot to actually answer him.

"Maria?" John called my name. "I know it's last minute, but I need you two to come down so I can tell you what I need to tell you without having to make two drawn out calls, okay?"

"Us two? Does he really have to be there?" I mumbled, quickly being scolded by John. "I'm sorry, I just don't like him, you know that..."

"I know you don't like him, but that doesn't mean you can't work with him. What did I tell you?"

I sighed, pulling my head away from the wall and leaning my back against it now. "That I'm always gonna meet people I don't like but still have to make it work..."

"See, this is where you have to put that into practice. Do you think I've liked everyone I've ever worked with? When I was younger, I—"

"Okay, I know, I'm sorry," I cut him off, knowing he had a thing for telling long anecdotes about himself and his life experiences. "I'll set off now."

"Thank you," John answered, a smile prominent in his tone. "See you soon."

"See you soon," I answered before hanging the phone back up on the wall.

I let out the deepest sigh and stayed leaned against the wall for a minute, looking down at my unopened beer can with sorrow in my eyes. I just wanted to chill and drink a beer or two, is that too much to ask of the universe? I hesitantly returned my beer to its place in the fridge and headed to put my shoes on. With how hot it was in England around that time, there was no way I was putting a jacket on, especially if I was going to be sat in John's office for who knows how long.

The commute to the office didn't take too long, thankfully, and I decided to go there by foot since I lived so close anyway. The area was small, didn't have a lot of people occupying it too much during the day, only at night, where there would be house parties up and down my street in particular and listening parties to records that had just been released, blaring from somebody's house who were lucky enough to be able to afford a larger speaker system. We'd sometimes have to play it in two people's homes to make sure everyone could hear it, but we'd have to make sure we started it at the exact same time. It was all very communal and was very safe all in all, which was surprising for London, to say the least.

John's office was a spare room in his own house that he'd transformed. In his very own home, he'd built a foundation for his own kingdom of music management.

I was greeted at the door by John himself and I followed him upstairs to his office, where he had cut-outs of newspaper articles written about Elton John, and himself, on the wall, as well as personal photos he had taken with Elton. He was very close with Elton, which was probably why the business dynamic worked so well. On a personal level, however, there were a lot of issues – issues I won't go into; it's not my place to speak about Elton and John's involvement with each other. But aside from that, their business relationship was great.

"Do you want a drink?" John asked me as we got to the office, allowing me to take a seat as always. I did, settling into one of the brown faux leather seats with my legs crossed – always an informal time at John Reid's place. I promise I wasn't always so rude on the surface, it was just that I'd known John for two years now so naturally I felt more comfortable to 'chill' around him, as I would do on my own back home.

"Are we talking alcohol, or..." I trailed off, giving him a hopeful look. He just pulled his mouth into a thin line with an expectant chuckle as he sat down at his desk. "I'm going to assume that's a no, then," I continued with a chuckle of my own.

"I have plenty of alcohol. Are we having any? Not right now," John said, shaking his head. That was probably the only thing we didn't have in common: the drinking. Don't misunderstand, when John Reid drank, John Reid drank – he, however, would never mix business with alcohol, which further led me to expect something rather serious to come up in conversation today.

I sighed and sat back, leaning my head back on the chair and staring up at all of John's display items on shelves and the walls. I clicked my tongue out of boredom before letting out an exaggerated sigh. I suddenly leaned forward in my chair and threw my hands up. "Where the fuck is he?"

"'He' is here with two teas," I heard the familiar Irish twang from behind me, turning my head to see the owner of said voice with two mugs of tea in his hands, walking over to John and putting one on his desk in front of him. He then turned around to head over to one of the other leather chairs in the room, but not before adding another comment. "Maybe you shouldn't be so lazy and expect others to do the same as you and sit around."

I narrowed my eyes a little and grimaced at him as he sat back on a chair, crossing one leg over the other. "Oh, just shut up, Paul," I spat, shaking my head.

"Come on, you two, let's not start again," John interrupted before anything started, tapping on his desk to get our attention. I dropped it, but kept staring over at Paul, just to be met with a cocky little smirk before he looked over at John with an attentive expression. I clenched my fists and gritted my teeth to supress the hatred I had in my heart for that man as I also looked over at John with the softest expression I could muster.

"Now, I didn't bring you two over here for banter or for drinks," John looked over at me as he paused before continuing. "There's something coming up that requires my attention, and I need somebody with me, so I brought you both here to talk with you about it." He didn't get any answer from me and Paul since we were both intent on hearing what he had to say. "So... Queen—"

I interrupted by immediately pointing over at Paul. "That's his territory," I said bluntly.

"Christ, Maria, can't you just take anything on board?" Paul answered.

"We made a deal that you would do the Queen stuff, dickhead, I'm—" I stopped myself and took a deep breath, looking over at John. "Didn't you say I didn't have to deal with that?"

"That's just lazy," Paul said.

"I wasn't talking to you," I said at him loudly, emphasising all of the syllables and vowels in hopes it would drill into his skull.

"It's just as well, because I need both of you to come with me to Rockfield farm whilst they finish up and record their new album, and I won't hear anything else about it," John said, banging his desk. "That's it, you can go now." He stood up, clearly fed up with the spats that regularly occurred between Paul and I, making his way towards the door. I shot up from my chair and followed him out of the door and down his own corridor.

"John, please, you know I would do anything for you, but this is too—"

"Maria, please," John interrupted, turning around and facing me. There was a small silence as I just furrowed my eyebrows and looked up at him. "What did I say on the phone? You're always going to have to work with people you don't want to work with."

"I know, but this?"

"Do you want to be a professional or a petty teenager? The choice is up to you."

I swallowed hard and looked away briefly, blinking slowly and sighing. "I'd rather be a professional."

"I know you would. And you will be, once you stop holding grudges, and once you come out of this aggressive phase. That's if it is a phase, after all."

I didn't really say anything to that; I knew he was right.

"Okay? So, we're going to get a car up there together, I'll need you here on August 10th at 9am."

"That's next week!"

"I know, it's less time for you to complain about it," he said with more humour in his voice this time, nudging me. "You can do this, Maria, it's really not that hard. It's only a month."

I nodded, folding my arms. "A month... At least it's not two months."

"Exactly. You don't need to do it for more than four weeks, okay?"

"Okay." I nodded with a sigh.

It's just one month... Four weeks... Twenty-eight days. I can do this.


End file.
